


The Color of Such Ghosts

by ForTheOffBeatHeart



Category: Original Work
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Bad Humor, Blackmail, Blood and Violence, Conspiracy Theories, Drug Abuse, Fiction, Future, Gangs, Government Conspiracy, Gun Violence, Hero Complex, Mild Language, Multi, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Plot, Plot Devices, Redemption, Rehabilitation, Science Fiction, Some Humor, Technology, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 08:55:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18028700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForTheOffBeatHeart/pseuds/ForTheOffBeatHeart
Summary: Everyone has a path they walk, and everyone shares that path with countless people they'll never meet. Key Donson and Max Eivind walk the same walk on the same path, but both start something much bigger than themselves. In a world where Earth and her Sun have all but given up on humanity, will it prove to be that if you make enough noise, someone from a different path will hear it? This is ultimately a story about why some things do not exist.(Not beta-ed, work in progress)





	The Color of Such Ghosts

Key stared at his fingers, lost in how ghostly white they were becoming. The frost was melting where his palm was supporting himself on the rail, but his fingers were sticking. The sweat made standing there so much worse. The greenish light pricked at his skin, reached down his throat and clawed at his belly, and made him feel like the air in his lungs was fighting back. Pin-prick droplets of water shocked his mind back to reality for a moment, but it didn't last. The trees were dark, the road was barely lit, and all he had in that moment were the clothes on his back and the hand gun tucked into his jeans. His Bit flashed to life, letting him know something was wrong a split second before flavor rushed his senses, and in a moment he was just short of throwing himself over the edge of the ravine. Bile coated his tongue, and acid burned at his nose and throat. When he could finally right himself, his stomach screamed and even catching his breath was taxing. His tongue grated itself on his teeth desperately in a futile attempt to not gag on the taste. He hunched over again, truly wishing it wasn't just his guts he was throwing into the river. His Bit flashed on again and showed him something about his heart rate. If he were to die right then, maybe it wouldn't be so bad, but most likely he wouldn't get anywhere remotely near death. It wasn't worth trying. Inhaling through his nose brought the awful taste back; he held his breath until he hiccuped, and breathed deep. What if Sky was watching?

It wasn't much longer before a ding rang out from behind him. Jangling, followed by two beeps and a starting engine. He couldn't move. His head pounded and the world spun at the idea of moving and inch. A weight fell impatiently onto his shoulder, but it stayed still until Key shifted back away from the rail. Its pull was hasty, but gentle in its own way. He felt like he was floating in a river of nausea, but floating nonetheless as his feet carried him wherever he was being pulled. The car was so warm inside that he could smell it when the door was opened for him. The gloved hands eased him into the back seat, watched as he pulled on his seat belt with shaking fingers, and made sure all of his limbs were safely in before slamming the door and bolting to the other side. Suddenly, there were street lights flashing by on one side, and his face pressed against the plastic behind the window. The lights were yellowed, and dim enough that Key could tell the brights were on. It was so warm now, it felt like existence itself was kissing his arms and hands and face. A gloved hand reached back, palm up. Words were spoken, but all Key could think was how thick the leather looked, and almost tasting the texture of it, all chemicals and bumps.

"The gun. You don't need it." Key's face felt strange, and he realized he was smiling. The butt of the gun was digging into his back. He shifted slowly, but suddenly the car was turning and his body was clinging so closely to the door that he could reach and pull it free with ease. The hand came into view, palm out again, and he placed the gun in it. Huddling back into the seat brought warmth to his back that he hadn't realized he was missing. The rocking and humming of the car echoed in his thoughts until he wasn't sure if he was still awake. In and out of what was real, the flashing lights began to hurt the inside of his eyes so he closed them for good and thought only about the fact that they were going home. He would be home soon, in his bed with a bathroom near by, and someone to take care of him if he was still sick. Key looked up long enough to see red lights and a commotion in the driver's seat. A leather jacked came flying back, the zipper clacking against his eyebrow with a shock of dull pain. A halfhearted grumble squeaked its way out of him as he took a deep breath. He had to prepare himself before he could move. He just needed to relax. This wasn't so bad. He was being taken care of, and after a little bit of sleep everything would be just fine. He felt one hand rub his eyebrow while the other arranged the leather jacket over his legs. He could feel another smile on his face. It had been a gesture of comfort, and it definitely worked. After falling asleep a few times, he woke up to the radio on. Bare hands on the steering wheel. 'The news? So boring' rattled around in his head until somehow he said it.

"The news?" More words came out in response, but it was too hard to decipher them. Another sharp turn jolted Key awake next. Having his head banged against the window was enough to get him uncomfortably more awake than he was ready for yet. "Don't listen to the news." There was no response to that as far as he could tell, but the bass of some pop song was what woke him up after that. The next thing he knew, he was in his bed, and it was dark, and warm, and it smelled like home. He was safe. It was okay to be sick now, but he wasn't anymore which was even better.

When his eyes opened to see sunlight glaring at him rudely through the gap in the curtains, he told himself, 'No one will know if I go back to sleep.' So he did. He slept in a void where nothing happened until someone's weight made the floor outside groan. Key's brain snapped on, and his toes wiggled. Good thing they got the memo. His eyes did not. So when the door opened, bringing a rush of alarm and cold air, his eyes opened too. A revolt throbbed just under his skin behind the bridge of his nose and his eyes closed again.

"You need to get up."

"I can't. I'm not ready to-"

"You haven't eaten since yesterday morning."

"I can't yet, I-"

"Mari is crying."

Key took a deep breath and sat up, but not before he took a moment to crush his eyes into their sockets. Sleep rubbed out of the corners and they opened to see his room. It looked like someone had gone through his clothes.

"You're being so talkative, Dom." He didn't respond. Instead, he stared down at Key expectantly. Frustratingly. Key didn't move, only frowning up at his bringer of misery, until there was a bang from downstairs. He was up then, realizing both how much colder it was outside the blankets and how horribly dry his mouth was. A shiver ran down his spine and through his limbs, goosebumps spreading all over. He looked down at himself. "Did I wash what I was wearing?" Key's eyes went back up to receive the answer. Dom's own stare told him nothing.

"Yes." And with that he turned and trotted downstairs. He looked at his Bit; it was 12:25 p.m. With a sigh Key followed suit. His bare foot his the tile of the first floor and he instantly regretted not changing into something warmer. Huffing, he quickly ran back upstairs to grab socks and a jacket. Mari was still crying when he made it to the kitchen table. Key was about to ask what was going on and opened his mouth to do so, but then registered the lump of feathers on the place mat in front of her. Upon realizing that it was a dead bird, he glared at Dom.

"Mari," he turned back to her, "This is what cats do. Why did you put it on the table?"

"I didn't put it on the table, dumb-ass!" She screeched, whipping her face out of her hands and standing so abruptly that her chair scooted backwards almost a foot on its own, "And I'm upset because you're the moron that came home last night looking almost dead! You looked like you got drugged and had a heart attack! You looked like you drowned in your own vomit! You looked fucking dead!" Her hand barely reached all the way around the bird, which looked like a pigeon, and she stomped in the direction toward Dom. Her Bit pinged to life, probably upset about her heart rate. "I'm upset because you," she gestured with the bird, its neck flopping slightly at the rough motion, "came home carrying him and didn't say a word! Have you gone completely mute?" She threw the bird. Dom let it hit him in the arm, and it spun away, thudding on the ground. "I'm upset because you two were supposed to take me with you- we were still deciding if we were going to go through with it at all- and it looked like you fucked up because you both have the shortsightedness to think that you could do it on your own!" It was dead silent immediately after Mari stopped screaming. Without skipping a beat, she twirled around and washed her hands. She took a deep breath and faced Key again. "I'm not upset that Catpurnicus left a winged rat where I eat. With what you two just pulled, I don't want to eat anyway." Dom moved to follow her as she marched to the living room.

Well. Key didn't think he needed to wake up for that, and to be fair the world was still lagging a little. To be fair, he had been poisoned, though not quite drugged. To be fair, he had wanted to die. He thought maybe he would.

"The job still got done, in case you were wondering!"

"I know, you jerk! Dom told me!"

"Then what the fuck..." Key didn't want to bother trying to get even with her. His head was in the same disarray her argument was. He hiccuped, followed by a small burp, and the emptiness from his stomach to his chest made itself known. Something smelled good, but there wasn't a speck of food out on the counter. His Bit pipped at him regarding his blood sugar level so he turned to the pantry, hoping for a decent cereal, when another shout came from the living room contesting with the news on the t.v.

"Breakfast is in here!" All grudges were forgiven in that moment. The stout coffee table came into view as he rounded the corner and dropped onto the couch, revealing a plate of waffles and a plate of scrambled eggs. Without hesitation, his hands dove in and piled some egg onto a waffle, folded it over, and delivered it right to his mouth. A scoff sounded from the far right corner. Sunken into a sun-bleached beanbag was Cassie. Key swallowed the mouthful without bothering to chew all of it in favor of speaking up.

"Oh, what, you have an opinion on how I eat after nearly being starved, but you had nothing to say while Mari was getting dangerously close to biting my head off?" Cassie rolled her eyes like Key needed classes to see it, her entire head lulling in the circular motion.

"Step off. You ditched both of us. And we all know it wasn't Dom's idea to-"

"Shhh!" Mari's arm shot out, hand up, and her entire body turned its attention to the t.v. There was a woman dressed in a nice dark blue suit holding a mic, addressing the news caster that introduced her.

"Yes, I am here at the scene of the crime here in the devastated stomping grounds of the world's one and only Carson Rogers, founder and CEO of VerModeCorp. There is yet to be a body, but judging by what we can see here, we'll find one. There was only one witness who claims she saw a car drive away from Dr. Rogers' home last night, and here she is giving her statement." The shot cut to a blurred out face, but the woman in question was so obese that her features would have needed more than that to make her unidentifiable. 

"Yah, I was just walking my dog here and I saw this dark SUV taking off down the street. I thought it was stupid teenagers! It turned the corner about a block that way, and when I turned around to see where it come from I saw the front door broken in and I thought I had actually heard a gunshot, but I didn't think that's what it was 'til I saw that." It was clear she had been cut off. Suddenly the cops on the scene seemed to notice the reporter, and were jogging towards her. She began to awkwardly side-step-run in her uncomfortable-looking heels away from the scene.

"As you could see, there was some blood and what seems like vomit on the driveway, and-" One of the cops said,

"M'am,-" before the video feed was killed. The station switched back to the people sitting at their desk. Mari's stare sent a cold stab into Key's gut.

"Please tell me that that vomit either isn't yours, or is so diluted with so much bleach that they won't even be able to tell what you ate." Key had nothing. He didn't know. By the time he had started throwing up, whatever had made him sick also made him delirious. He glanced at Dom, whose blank stare did nothing good for either of them. Mari was visibly less happy. "Dom? Even you let that slide?" His head sank a bit.

"I did not realize until later that he was sick." He looked guilty as hell, and damn if it didn't make Key feel regret from the depths of his chest to the tips of his fingers. Mari seemed to feel the same, and it was Cassie who piped up.

"So... that's, like, the only spot he threw up that didn't get cleaned? Also, what even was it? Arsenic? Pepper spray to the mouth? Did he spoon feed you Ipecac? I wouldn't count on your stomach acid to do the job on a day like this."

"Thanks, Cassie. And I don't know. I don't remember. It could have just been food poisoning." Key refused to let his nerves get out of hand. He could handle their sizzling and popping, but his throat was closing up a bit, and the burn in his lungs was becoming concerning. "This is the first time something like this has happened. They don't have anything to reference anything they find. We'll be fine if we get out of here and go back like we were already planning to do." Mari contemplated that. She turned the t.v. off and sat there in the corner of the couch, barely even breathing. Key could practically hear the cogs turning.

"Cassie?" She looked up at Mari from her lap, where her phone was undoubtedly hiding.

"I mean, I'd like to get paid. And you wanted us to lay low and get 'real jobs'," she air quoted, "for like, the next decade."

"I said two years, and then we would decide if the world was fine without us."

"No, no," Key chimed in, "I think what she said was, 'I wanna get paid for this hit, but I'm scared this guy it too big so I want this to be the last time'. It was an ultimatum, Cassie!" She smiled, and Key smiled back. Dom was less impressed, and Mari seemed to be mentally loosening her jaw so that she could fit Key's head into it. She sighed and sat back.

"I'm too old for this. We should start packing. I'm going out to get food for the road, Dom is in charge until I get back." She stared each of them down before finishing, "Too many things are going to happen because of this. Sky is always watching, and I know for a fact that what we've started is bigger than what we can handle." With that, she paced back into the kitchen, grabbed a set of keys, and left. The door rattled behind her, leaving the air dry and uncomfortable. It was time to get moving.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the re-work of something I began to write years ago. I have a clear direction, but questionable time table. I can promise two things as of right now:  
> Most chapters will NOT include graphic depictions of someone being sick.  
> I will try to do my research on as many details as possible.  
> Thank you for reading chapter one! Please let me know your thoughts, comments, etc!


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